


The Stranger from the Shadows

by blackmountainbones, BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV), The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Blood Drinking, Erotic Horror, Julian is a bastard man, M/M, SEXY vampire mind control, Vampires, dubcon, the Bad Dirty and it feels so good, vampire mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27163972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/pseuds/blackmountainbones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: Noel picks up an attractive stranger on his way home from Vampire Night at the Goth club. His vampire costume is even better than Noel’s own! Noel takes Julian home for a night of sexy vampire roleplay, but it doesn't take long before their game stops being a game, and begins to get real.
Relationships: Julian Barratt/Noel Fielding
Comments: 13
Kudos: 20





	The Stranger from the Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! It’s no secret we love all things creepy, and Halloween 2020 is the Year of the Vampire. We bring you the first of our two vampire-themed Halloween stories: one erotic horror, and one cracky Boosh misadventure. This is the scary one. They say fear is just another type of arousal, after all...   
>  We chose not to use archive warnings for this fic. There’s some dubcon, namely vampire mind-control, but it only makes everyone get off harder. There are also graphic mentions of blood and vampire-related violence. This is erotic horror. Proceed at your own risk.
> 
> Mad thanks to [BadBadBucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBadBucky/pseuds/BadBadBucky) for their tireless beta work. We'd be worse if it weren't for your insight!

Noel bursts out of the club. The late-October chill hits him like a slap, but, as usual, he’s forgone a practical jacket in favor of looking really, really hot: it’s vampire night at the Goth club, only a week before Halloween, and Noel’s wearing a fishnet shirt and his tightest leather pants. They’re a deep, blood red, a departure from his usual black, but they match the red stone in the oversized crucifix around Noel’s neck,  _ and _ they make his ass look good, too. 

The only problem with being hot, he reflects, is the unwanted attention that comes along with it. He rubs his knuckles, which are sore from jabbing some creep at the bar who didn’t understand the concept of personal space, hence his quick exit from the club. 

The door creaks open, and Noel snaps his head around to check for the guy he’d just punched, but it’s just his two friends, Sally and Amy, both dressed in similar costumes to his, but they’re both wearing capes despite Noel’s attempt to convince them that modern vampires can keep up with fashion.

“Can you believe that guy?” his friend Sally snorts. “What a creep, stalking you like that!”

“Seriously,” Amy agrees. “What a loser!”

“He was kind of cute, except for the creepy stalking thing,” Sally admits. “Such a shame.”

“Men are trash,” Amy sighs.

Noel smiles and runs his tongue along the press-on fangs he’s wearing tonight. “Seriously,” he agrees. “If you’re gonna creep on me like that, lure me down a foggy alley and bite my throat or don't waste my fucking time.”

His friends burst into laughter. “You and your vampire kink,” Sally teases. 

“Bite me,” Noel quips.

They’re so caught up in their private jokes, they fail to notice the smoking man at the far end of the alley. Not only is he dressed mostly in black, save for the white, stiff collar of his shirt, he’s had lifetimes to perfect the art of blending in with the shadows.

All creatures of the night learn how to eventually, and Julian is no different. It’s been a long time since he’s seen the sun, and everything looks the same in the shadows. 

But not the boy. He stands out. Very little captures Julian’s attention these days--he’s seen and heard everything at least three times over by now. The fake fangs are terrible, but the shape of the boy’s ass in his leather pants and his androgynous good looks make Julian swallow. 

He throws down the butt of his cigarette, grinds it out with his boot, and emerges, keeping to the shadows. He draws his long jacket more closely around himself; he’s had centuries of practice in going unseen, and knows to wait for the opportune moment to reveal himself. This young man, this poseur, this capricious upstart, wishes to be taken down an alley and bitten on the neck?

Julian smiles to himself. He’s happy to oblige. 

The friends walk along the sidewalk, Julian following from a distance, flitting from one clump of shadows to the next. The group parts at a taxi stand a few blocks over. The women offer to share the taxi with Noel, who turns them down. “I don’t live far. Besides, I could use the walk--sober me up a little bit before I pass out.”

“You’re sure, Noel?” Sally asks. “There was that murder last month, not far from here--”

“You mean the one where the guy was completely drained of blood?” Amy interrupts.

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Don’t worry, ladies,” Noel assures them. “I’ve been living here for three years. This neighborhood’s safe as a flamingo in a greenhouse.”

“Oh, Noel, you’re such a nutter,” Amy says, and they kiss goodbye, a dramatic--and platonic--looking air kiss. When he pulls away, the gaudy jeweled crucifix he’s wearing on his neck catches on her fishnet shirt. Unaware that it’s stuck, Noel pulls away, and the cheap costume jewelry snaps, the pendant clattering to the ground.

“Oh no!” Amy cries, but Noel just flashes her another grin, his ridiculous, oversize fangs making his smile look like sneer. “How are you going to keep the vampires away now?”

“Maybe  _ that’s _ why I didn’t pull tonight,” he chuckles. “Hopefully my luck improves.” Then he’s off, walking into the night, unaware that he’s not alone. 

Julian waits until the cab drives off before he steps out of the shadows, careful to keep his distance as he follows. He passes to the place where the bauble had fallen off Noel’s neck: the fallen trinket glitters on the rain-soaked pavement, fake jewels winking in the moonlight. 

It’s the easiest trick in the book, one Julian has used countless times to ingratiate himself with other young, nubile men: he’ll run to catch the man, returning their lost trinkets to gain their trust and lure them in. Men as beautiful as Noel trust so easily--they think nothing of inviting him in for a drink, are not bashful about showing their appreciation to a helpful stranger. 

Julian reaches down to pick it up, but the bauble burns his skin the instant he makes contact. He stumbles and squints at the gaudy thing. It’s covered with fake jewels and edged with curlicues, but it is unmistakably a crucifix. Julian leaves the trinket where it lies, refusing to waste emotion on frustrated plots. He’d heard the man: “lure me down a foggy alley and bite my throat or don't waste my fucking time.” Julian has nothing  _ but  _ time, and Noel  _ had  _ worded his desires so nicely. Lucky for him, Julian plans to do just that. 

Noel’s nearly at the end of the block. Julian follows, grinning to himself. Before the first rays of sun creep over the horizon, they will both have gotten what they desire. 

Noel turns down his street, still texting a string of people he keeps in his address book for nights like these, when he doesn’t pull but doesn’t want to be alone. The neon glow from the nightclubs gives way to a street full of dilapidated row houses and the chatter of the partiers on the high street fades, until the click of Noel’s heeled boots on the pavement is the only sound aside from the occasional cab. 

A shiver trips over his skin and he rolls his eyes, as though asking the very air “how dare you,” when he knows, deep down, it’s his fault for not wearing a jacket. He runs a tongue over the press-on fangs--they feel strange in his mouth but he likes them, likes how smooth they feel under his tongue and how they press into his bottom lip just so, not unlike the way he  _ likes  _ to be bitten when kissing. 

A little warmth radiates in the pool of Noel’s belly at the thought. He aches to get off with someone, anyone. But everyone on his list seems to have their own plans for the night, and, frustrated, Noel pockets his phone and jams his hands into the minimal pocket space afforded by his tight leather trousers, trying to warm his chilled fingers. He’ll be home soon, he reminds himself. 

For a few moments he ambles, watching the night around him--the hazy glow of street lamps, the reflections of the lights on wet cobblestones. A niggling feeling at the back of his neck forces him to turn around and make sure he’s still alone (he is). Then his phone buzzes in his pocket and he swipes it open to check his texts, not paying attention to where he’s going--

The impact nearly knocks Noel off his feet. He totters on his platforms, and a wool-clad arm reaches across his shoulders to steady him. “My apologies,” a rich, warm voice says. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Noel looks up. Even though he’s wearing his tallest platforms, the man is still taller than him by several inches. He’s gazing down at Noel, his small, dark eyes crinkled nearly shut by his smile, his canines long and sharpened into points. 

“Whoa!” Noel says, smiling. One of his fangs is starting to come unglued, and it wiggles as his lips pull into a grin. “Love the fangs! They look so real.”

“Thank you,” the stranger says in that same smoldering voice. Its smooth timbre sends blood coursing to Noel’s cock, and he shifts uncomfortably in his tight pants, trying to hide the interest his prick has taken in the stranger. 

“Were you at the party?” Noel asks, suddenly desperate to fill the heavy silence with noise, any noise, no matter how nonsensical. “I didn’t see you there, I thought--” 

“No,” interrupts the stranger. His eyes are flinty in the darkness but there’s a spark in them, too. 

Noel had been cold before, but now he finds he’s unbothered by the weather, warmed by lust and the stranger’s voice, dark and velvety as the night sky. 

The stranger steps closer, and Noel wonders if he imagines the way the stranger inclines his head, inhaling slightly, as though  _ scenting  _ him. Noel’s eyelids flutter shut--he can smell the stranger, too--incense, tobacco, and an underlying masculine sweetness that makes Noel’s mouth water. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and meets the stranger’s eyes as his lashes flutter open. “I’m Noel,” he says, his voice quavering embarrassingly. 

“You may call me Julian,” replies the stranger. He lets go of Noel’s arm, stepping back to respectable personal space distance, but their eyes never break contact. “A pleasure,” says Julian, bowing his head slightly.

Noel forgets all about the queue of prospects in his phone. He cocks a hip towards Julian, his feet instinctively turning towards each other as he flips the hair out of his face. Noel knows how to position himself to the best advantage, allowing Julian to take a good look. Noel  _ had  _ dressed with the express purpose of looking hot tonight. 

“Julian,” Noel purrs, trying to emulate the other man’s mellifluous inflection, “my place isn’t far. Fancy a drink?”

The man barks a laugh. Confident his flirtation is working, Noel’s lips twist into a pouty smirk as he brushes his fringe out of his eyes, setting his best smoldering look on Julian. It works. Julian is standing too close again, a slender finger tipping up Noel’s chin. His knees feel weak as those deep eyes bore into his own. 

“I’d  _ love  _ a drink,” Julian whispers. He drops a feather-light kiss on the sensitive skin where Noel’s jaw meets his throat before stepping back. “Lead the way,” he says, gesturing dramatically, his long black coat flaring with the movement. Noel swallows thickly, regaining his bearings, and starts to walk, skin buzzing where Julian’s lips had been as they stroll in silence back to his place. 

They walk side-by-side, the houses growing shabbier and more dilapidated as they head further down the block. “Do you live nearby?” Noel asks, curious to know more about Julian. He can tell Julian’s older--maybe his late thirties--but his severe black clothing and old fashioned speech make him seem older. Then again, Julian might just be committed to the part.

“Not too far,” Julian answers. “Have you always lived in London?”

Noel preens under Julian’s gaze, the way Julian watches him, face obscured by the shadows but eyes bright with interest. “South London born and raised,” Noel replies. “But not you--where are you from?”

“Leeds, originally. But that was a long time ago,” answers Julian, looking down and away. There’s a hint of the accent, now that Noel knows to look for it, which could explain the outdated way Julian talks. “I’ve lived everywhere since then. I like London best, with its teeming millions,” Julian continues. He looks up and regards Noel  _ hungrily,  _ in a way that makes Noel’s heart race, the streetlights glinting off a fang. 

“So you’ve lived here a while, then?” Noel asks.

Julian shrugs. “Long enough.”

Noel wants to ask him how long that is, but they’ve arrived in front of Noel’s building. It’s an old row house, four stories tall with a steeply-pitched roof and a torn awning over the front door. “This is my place,” he says, unlocking the door. The lock sticks a bit as he opens it, and he nudges it open with his hip.

Julian doesn’t follow him inside. He lingers on the front step, just beyond the doorway. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Noel’s hit with a pang of lust. So Julian wants to play this game? The night is shaping up to be even better than he’d hoped. “Come inside,” he says, with a hint of innuendo.

Julian follows. The inside of the building is as shabby as the out: the halls need a coat of paint, and every other light is either flickering or already blown. “Sorry it’s not much,” Noel says, suddenly embarrassed to be living in such a shit apartment. “But it’s cheap.”

Nonplussed, Julian quips, “It’s nicer than I thought. I imagined a little coffin, but this is quite spacious.” He reaches out and brushes Noel’s hair out of his eyes. “Lead on,” Julian commands, eyeing the dim and narrow stairs.

It’s a long way up to Noel’s flat: he lives in the attic, up four flights of stairs. There’s not enough space for them to walk side-by-side, so Noel heads up first, Julian following close. They don’t talk; the stairs are steep and soon both of them are breathing hard.

As Noel turns the corner on each landing, he’s pleased to notice Julian eyeing his ass and he’s grateful he wore his tightest leather trousers, impractical as they are. 

At last they reach the landing, and Noel fishes the keys to his flat out of his pocket. Before he has a chance to insert it, Julian’s hands are in his hair again and they’re kissing, despite being out of breath from the climb.

Noel has to admit that Julian’s committed to the part. He kisses with as much teeth as tongue; his fangs graze against the sensitive skin of Noel’s lips with just enough pressure to scrape pleasantly. 

He bites down, canines pressing into Noel’s lips, just painful enough to heighten the fervor of his kiss. Noel moans--he’d expected some kind of kinky roleplay, considering they’re both wearing vampire costumes, but Julian is even better than he’d hoped. 

Julian’s hands, still cold from the outside, cruise up Noel’s sides, tracing delicate lines up and down the fevered skin exposed by Noel’s fishnet sleeves. Noel finds the cold jolting, but in the same arousing way Julian’s teeth had been--surprising, but not unpleasant. 

Julian looms over him, pressing Noel into the wall with the force of his kisses. One of his hands snakes down to wrap itself around the wrist holding Noel’s keys, pinning it against the wall, pinning  _ Noel _ against the wall. With a moan, Noel’s palm opens, and the key drops to the floor, the clank of metal against the tile drawing Noel back to the dingy landing outside his flat. 

He breaks the kiss. Nonplussed, Julian nibbles along his jawline. “Wait,” Noel murmurs, “let’s get inside first.”

Reluctantly, Julian loosens his hold on him, and Noel bends down to pick up the key. Julian steals a quick grope of his ass, his large hand covering the whole cheek.

It takes a moment for Noel to remember how to work the lock with Julian breathing down his neck, but eventually, it clicks open. The apartment is even dingier than the rest of the building--it’s been ages since it was updated, and the carpets are sparse and stained, the furniture all salvaged from the ex-flatmates and the street. Noel’s not neat at the best of times, but between picking up extra shifts at work and the nearly-nightly partying of the Halloween season, Noel’s favorite holiday by far, it’s filthy by even  _ his _ standards: there’s a pile of dirty laundry on the armchair, and and the tables are covered by a mix of art-supplies and empty takeout containers.

“Sorry it’s such a mess,” Noel apologizes, as he reaches to flick the light switch, but Julian’s larger hand covers his. 

“Don’t,” Julian whispers, his voice low and rumbling. 

A moment passes and Noel’s hand drops from the switch of its own volition. No sooner has his hand returned to his side than Julian is latched to him again, kissing and sucking and nibbling as Noel guides them through the dark room to the lumpy futon, carefully avoiding any piles along the way. He sits, pulling Julian down next to him; all the while, Julian has continued working his way down Noel’s neck, his moustache tickling Noel’s hypersensitive skin. Noel breathes a sigh and stretches back, granting Julian more access. 

Julian can barely contain himself at the sight of the pale and flawless skin of Noel’s neck, laid bare as though Noel is begging for Julian to stake his claim. Julian hasn’t been this aroused, this _hard,_ in ages, perhaps even decades. He licks his lips and scrapes a trail of kisses from clavicle to jawline. His mouth waters at the taste--he can already smell the sweetness of Noel’s blood, thrumming insistently beneath his skin. 

He pulls Noel closer, hands guiding Noel’s thighs to straddle his own and noses at the juncture of Noel’s shoulder and neck. Noel’s skin is warm and flushed beneath his own cool fingers. The thirst grows stronger, and Julian can’t resist taking a taste. He moves his hand from Noel’s ass and up his spine to tangle in Noel’s hair and draws their mouths together. 

He licks into Noel’s mouth and the taste is exquisite, but anemic--the difference between artificial, cherry-flavored ice lollies and biting into the flesh of a fresh, juicy, perfectly ripe cherry. The taste only whets his appetite. Noel moans sweetly and Julian crushes his mouth fiercely against Noel’s, deepening the kiss, desperate to taste more.

At first, Noel goes along with Julian’s kisses, opening his mouth wider, moaning enthusiastically enough to inspire Julian to slide a hand up his thigh. Noel gasps and bucks his hips, rubbing his pert ass over Julian’s hardness. Julian repeats the caress, this time reaching for the fly of Noel’s leather trousers--it’s a zipper, something Julian has yet to get the hang of despite the fact that they replaced buttons at least half a century ago.

This time, however, instead of arching wantonly into the touch, Noel’s hands press against Julian’s chest. Julian reluctantly lets him go, though he knows Noel wouldn’t have the strength to fight him off if he felt less generous. Noel stands and runs a hand through his hair, licking his lips. He takes a moment to adjust himself, to catch his breath, before asking, “Can I get you something to drink? Wine, a beer, something else?” 

“I never drink… alcohol,” replies Julian, his voice gravelly. 

Noel huffs a sardonic laugh. “Okay, Vlad,” he says sarcastically. Julian’s commitment to the role is… intense. Noel’s had some kinky nights, but usually there’s  _ some  _ break in the play for more normal stuff. 

Julian’s eyes flash in the dark room, and for a moment Noel thinks he’s offended the other man. He walks to the kitchen to fill a glass with water from the tap, buying some time as he decides how to proceed. He sips, worrying the loose glue-on fang in with his tongue as he thinks. 

Julian broods darkly on the futon, furthering Noel’s assessment that he’s kind of a freak (albeit a sexy one). Noel’s skin is still humming where Julian had touched and kissed him. He’s still hard, a little tipsy, and he  _ needs  _ to get off, weird vampire stuff or not. 

Noel places the glass in the sink and turns around. When he finds himself face to face with Julian, he lets out a gasp and presses a hand to his chest as though the gesture will slow his pounding heart. “Jesus, you--” 

Julian slides a finger beneath Noel’s chin, tipping his face upward so their eyes meet. 

When Noel’s eyes meet Julian’s, whatever mindless thing he’d been about to say evaporates. He hadn’t noticed them before, not properly. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or lack thereof, but the irises he’d mistaken for brown are instead red, a dark scarlet. The color is mesmerising, and Noel can’t look away.

Noel knows he’d been about to say something, but now he can’t remember what it was. It mustn’t have been important. His thoughts are oil-slick in his mind, each one sliding right through his grip the minute he has a hand on them. No thoughts remain except the smoky, intoxicating scent of Julian and the feel of his cool fingers against Noel’s skin. 

“Come,” says Julian, his voice a smooth rumble. “Take me to your bedroom,” he growls, and Noel finds his head nodding of its own accord, the knot of thought he’d been trying to untangle gone smooth with the sound of Julian’s voice. 

Noel doesn’t think--he doesn’t need to. His feet carry him to his bedroom on instinct; he cannot hear Julian’s footsteps behind him, but he senses his presence, knows he’s there. 

The self-consciousness Noel usually feels about his shabby, mismatched furniture, his secondhand bedding, the mess and disorganization of his room is nowhere to be found. As soon as he’s crossed the threshold, he turns around, desperate to pick up where they’d left off. 

Julian is there, looming over him in the darkened room. “Good,” he purrs, pressing a kiss to Noel’s jaw. The rumble of Julian’s voice, his praise, floods Noel with warmth. Julian kisses his throat and Noel lets his eyes slide shut. 

The lassitude shifts--it doesn’t dissipate completely, but Noel’s mind feels less full of cotton, a little more clear than it had a moment ago. He inhales the alluring fragrance of Julian’s skin, and hears the little sucking, wet noises Julian makes against his skin, pleased he didn’t send the other man home.

Noel’s eyes flutter open and he reaches up to slide Julian’s coat off his broad shoulders, and he’s surprised at the quality of the fabric. It’s not cheap, costumey polyester--it might be wool, or velvet, lined in satin that matches his eyes. It feels expensive. 

Julian pulls back and allows Noel to remove his coat, glad that the boy has overcome his…  _ inconvenient  _ second thoughts. He admires Noel’s face--such high cheekbones and a nose that’s somehow both flat and bumpy. And those large, blue eyes… his conquest is beautiful, not unlike a painting; a rare, lovely item to be collected and kept away from the prying eyes of others. Noel reaches for the pin at his cravat and his fingers brush against the skin of Julian’s neck, as intimate as a kiss.

Noel struggles with the onyx pin, as unfamiliar with its antique clasp as Julian is with zippers; Julian watches as the boy fumbles with its clasp. He’s about to reach up and undo it himself when Noel hisses, drawing his hand back as though he’d been burned, and Julian doesn’t need to ask what happened. He’s assaulted by the smell of Noel’s blood--coppery, rich, and sweet, headier than any wine. Saliva pools beneath his tongue and his hand reaches for Noel’s--

Noel sucks his injured finger into his mouth and Julian releases a frustrated moan. How  _ dare  _ Noel be so stupid as to bleed in front of him? Does he not know what Julian is? And how dare he suck his  _ own  _ blood, denying Julian the thing he wants most in the world?

Julian lowers his trembling hand, clutching it into a fist at his side. He inhales, the aroma of Noel’s blood still potent in the air. “Are you all right?” Julian grinds out through a clenched jaw. He knows if he relaxes it, he’ll be on Noel’s neck in a matter of moments.

“S’nothing,” Noel murmurs, “just a scratch.”

It’s  _ not _ . Every cell in Julian’s body vibrates, calling on him to sate his hunger, to  _ feed, _ to swaller Noel’s blood. No, the scratch won’t kill Noel, but  _ Julian _ can. He doesn’t bother to tell the boy that. Instead, he licks his tongue into Noel’s mouth, tasting the sweet, syrupy flavor of blood explode against his tastebuds.

Noel tastes even better than Julian had expected. The thin thread holding his control snaps, and Julian growls, tearing Noel’s clothing. The flimsy shirt, made of some newfangled fabric that is nearly see-through, tears as he yanks it over Noel’s head.

“Hey!” the boy protests, soothing the small rip between his fingers. “That was expensive, you know!”

“Shhh,” Julian shushes, angling his head so their eyes meet. He holds Noel’s gaze and watches as the boy goes boneless, the protest dying on his lips. Julian bats Noel’s hands away to grasp the fabric at either side of the tear, and yanks. The shirt tears all the way up the middle, leaving Noel’s chest bare. He’s so slim that Julian can see the dip of his sternum and the outline of his ribs, the skin over his chest fluttering with the rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Julian slides his palm down Noel’s bare chest, grazing a nipple with his thumb. The boy lets out another moan, more needy than the last. He’s so pliant, so responsive, that Julian knows that he would go along with anything right now. He works his way down Noel’s body, paying special attention to the wiry black hair between the boy’s navel and waistband, before coming to rest at the fly of Noel’s tight trousers.

He fiddles with the zipper for a moment, but the stubborn thing refuses to work. “Take off your trousers,” Julian murmurs, delighted when Noel shucks them down to his ankles, lying back on the bed as he kicks them into a pile on the floor.

The little tart is wearing pants so tiny they hardly count as proper undergarments. His erection pokes out the waistband of his pants, damp tip dripping, and Julian knows which part of the boy he’s going to taste next. 

He leans down to tease the head of Noel’s cock with the tip of his tongue. The boy shivers, and grabs at Julian’s head, pulling the brown curls as he tries to push Julian’s head off of his lap. But Julian simply angles his head to keep eye contact and licks a drop of precum from Noel’s cockhead. The boy shudders again, his head and torso falling to the mattress with a thud.

Good. Julian’s got Noel exactly where he wants him--sprawled carelessly over the sheets, his mind too clouded with pleasure to resist. He wouldn’t want to, if he knew what was in store for him, Julian thinks. There are benefits to being what he is, and this is one of them.

He pushes the ridiculous pants down Noel’s thighs and slurps his cock into his mouth, down to the root. This time, Noel moans, and his hips buck, pushing his cock against the back of Julian’s throat. It would gag a lesser man, but Julian doesn’t need to breathe, and he lets Noel thrust in and out for a minute, until one of Julian’s fangs pokes the spongy, fat head of his cock.

But instead of crying out in pain, the boy releases a long, low moan of pleasure. This gives Julian an idea. He slackens his jaw, letting Noel’s cock fall from his mouth, as one of Julian’s long fingers insinuates itself between his legs to caress the wrinkled skin of his hole.

“Noel,” Julian says, using the name like a command. Noel snaps to attention. “Get the lube,” Julian orders, and the boy reaches beneath one of the pillows and hands Julian a small tube, already half-empty; Julians lips stretch into a grin. What a  _ tart _ Noel is, not that Julian minds.

He spreads some of the slippery stuff onto his fingers--Julian tends to prefer the old ways, but even he has to admit that the stuff is better than the oil they used back then. It eases the way enough that Julian can soon slip a finger inside with hardly any resistance.

A blush has spread over the boy’s face. He’s still looking down at Julian as Julian teases him open, eyes glassy not from drunkenness but from a different type of intoxication entirely. Julian slips a second finger inside along with the first, and lowers his mouth to the pale skin of Noel’s thigh.

Noel’s head is tilted down to gaze adoringly at Julian, who is dragging the sharp point of his canines up and down his inner thigh. Noel’s thoughts have gone loose and vaporous again like a mist in the morning that can’t be caught. He cannot focus on any one for too long… the sensations that fire across his nerve endings quickly stamp out rational thought. 

Julian, Julian, Julian… Julian whose fangs are still intact. How did he get his teeth to stay on this long? And why are they so sharp? Noel tries to remind himself to ask Julian what kind of adhesive he uses after, but the thought is lost in a moan of pleasure as Julian’s fingers tap against his prostate. 

Noel’s mushy brain drunkenly slurs something about danger, but he can’t hear it over the sound of Julian’s rumble of laughter, vibrating low and dark across Noel’s sensitive skin. He can’t think over the sensation of Julian’s fingers rubbing inside of him--the pleasure crowds out everything else. He’s so close to coming--he’s one direct touch to his cock away from losing it, his muscles quivering with it, his mind is loose and muzzy, and he closes his eyes-- 

“Noel,” growls Julian, and Noel’s eyelids snap open. As soon as his eyes lock with Julian’s, coherent thought dissipates. There is only the delicious anticipation of release. 

Julian’s lips are against his neck, licking at the sweat pooled in the dip of his collarbones. Julian’s mouth curls into a smile, a wicked, toothy grin, his lips cool against Noel’s flushed and fevered skin. Noel keens as Julian scrapes those fangs along the delicate skin of his neck. 

Close, so close now. If only he’d touch… 

Julian removes his fingers, moving up on the bed to hook his arm under Noel’s knees, pulling them up an apart. His cock, cool and slick with lube, prods against Noel’s anus. “You want this,” Julian croons in his ear. Noel nods because he does. He’s never wanted anything more. 

Julian pushes inside all at once, not waiting for Noel to adjust. It burns, and Noel keens, but Julian doesn’t break the eye contact. Suddenly, the burning stops, replaced by a pleasure Noel never knew was possible--his nerves tingle from the top of his spine to his toes, and the moan that spills out of him shudders with pleasure.

Julian is not a gentle lover--he drives in and out of Noel’s body roughly, pulling Noel’s hips in time with his thrusts. Noel’s cock leaks onto his stomach, untouched--he can feel the wet, sticky precum dribble against his skin. “Touch me,” he moans.

Julian stops mid-thrust, fingers digging into Noel’s hipbones. For a moment, Noel thinks Julian will have mercy on him, finally,  _ finally  _ touching his cock, but Julian dips his head, dragging his teeth against the hyper-sensitive skin of Noel’s neck. He pushes the sharp tip of his fangs against Noel’s jugular, hard--

The fog evaporates, the cloud of pleasure sharpening into pain as Noel comes back to himself. “Ouch!” he yelps, trying to shake his neck free, but Julian’s teeth grip tightly, not letting go. “What are you doing?”

Julian lets out a low, rumbling laugh against Noel’s skin. “Only what you asked for,” he murmurs, voice velvety and dark. “ _ Lure me down a foggy alley and bite my neck or don’t waste my time.”  _ And with that, he drives his fangs in.

_ He’s biting me,  _ Noel realizes through the haze in his brain. The pain is immediate, worse than anything Noel’s ever felt before. It reminds him of the time he’d been bitten by a dog as a child, of the way the dog’s incisors had latched into his flesh. But Julian’s fangs bore deeper than the dog’s had--Noel nearly chokes as the pain radiates from his neck through his chest and down his legs. It’s hard to breathe--the pain overwhelms his nervous system; even something as automatic as breathing requires a concentration that Noel does not have.

Julian sucks against his skin. A trickle of blood seeps from the corner of his mouth down Noel’s neck, making his skin itch. Realization fractures Noel’s bliss: Julian isn’t kissing his throat. He’s  _ slurping.  _

This isn’t kinky roleplay. Those fangs are intact because they’re  _ real.  _

Noel shudders. Julian must have mistaken it for pleasure, because his lips and tongue suckle harder at the wound on Noel’s throat, but as Noel feels his blood leaking out, he senses something, cool as water, seeping into the wound from Julian’s mouth. With each drip of the cool liquid, the pain lessens, and Noel’s brain fogs, but not before the idea that maybe something in Julian’s mouth acts as a drug flits across his mind. 

It’s the last cohesive thought Noel has as the venom hits his system.

His muscles slacken as he melts into the mattress, every quivering tendon going slack. His head is too heavy to keep upright, so he drops it to the pillow, even though this means he can’t watch Julian. But even that doesn’t bother him. He’s too far adrift in a sea of pleasure to care that he has no anchor. 

Julian’s thrusts quicken and with his body as loose and relaxed as it is, Noel feels the spark of arousal reignite. His cock, which had gone half-soft, twitches back to life as Julian thrusts and sucks and  _ fucks,  _ bringing Noel back to the brink of orgasm.

It doesn’t help that Julian’s arranging his loose limbs as easily as a ragdoll, pulling Noel’s knees to his chest to push more deeply. He growls, thrusting harder, the angle pushing the head of Julian’s cock against Noel’s prostate, sending stars across Noel’s foggy vision. Noel sighs, high and breathy and Julian lifts his head from Noel’s neck and smiles--feral, frenzied, and stained red with Noel’s blood. 

“You want this,” growls Julian. Noel moans in agreement, the pain long forgotten, the pleasure overwhelming. His cock is hard and leaking again, as Julian drives into him over, and over. “Come for me,” Julian pants, his voice gravelly with exertion. 

And Noel does. 

The pleasure crests without warning, and Noel’s cock spills semen onto his stomach. He yelps, trying to reach a hand to his cock to ease the come out, but Julian brushes Noel’s hand away harshly, jealously, and keeps fucking the come out of him, til Noel’s sure his balls have been emptied of every last drop and his body goes limp against the mattress, eyes rolling in his head.

The sight of the boy, all fucked-out and pliant, arouses Julian nearly as much as the taste of his blood has. He can still feel it in his mouth, thick and syrupy-sweet, can feel it coursing through his own veins all the way down to his cock.

His cock, which is still buried inside the boy’s body, throbs with lust. Julian is a possessive thing--when you’ve existed as long as he has, you learn how to take what you want before anyone else gets a chance to take it from you. And Julian wants Noel--not just for tonight, but for eternity.

He pauses his thrusts, bracing himself on one forearm, his chest heaving just inches above Noel’s. A single drop of sweat drips from Julian’s forehead onto Noel’s collarbone. It pools like blood.

The image spurs Julian to action. He holds his left wrist to his mouth, and he sinks his fangs into the artery, where Noel’s blood thrums in his veins, and lifts his bleeding wrist to Noel’s lips.

The boy whimpers and shakes his head, hair fanned over the pillow. But Julian lets the blood dribble onto Noel’s closed mouth and whispers “Drink.”

The tip of Noel’s tongue peeks from between his lips, which have gone pale from the loss of blood. Julian knows that he is trying to resist the pull--the venom incites the thirst, but the effect is only temporary. He must act quickly, before Noel comes back to his senses.

Julian stares into Noel’s eyes. “Drink,” he repeats, and the boy’s blown pupils grow even wider. His tongue licks over his Cupid’s bow, where Julian’s blood has pooled. 

That’s all it takes, one taste, before Noel tilts his head up and laves his tongue against the blood slowly seeping from the twin punctures on Julian’s wrist. The licks turn to sucks; Noel’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and the fine thread around Julian’s control snaps--he resumes his thrusts, fucking into Noel as he drinks Julian’s blood. It’s more intimate than sex--Julian’s deeper inside of him than any cock could possibly be, running through his very veins. And even though Julian’s the one fucking Noel, Noel’s blood throbs inside him, from Julian’s heart to his cock.

Noel sucks more deeply, greedy now, his throat bobbing with each sip. It’s too much--Julian drives in hard, slamming his thighs against Noel’s ass with a slap, and lets go, coming with a shout.

Through it all, Noel keeps sipping. He’s so full of Julian he’s overflowing with it--he can feel the sticky seed leaking from his ass as Julian keeps driving into him with small, shuddering thrusts. 

He feels himself full of what he’s drinking, too--Julian’s blood tastes dark and thick, bitter but with a sweet aftertaste, and Noel can’t get enough. 

Until the pain returns. Only it’s different this time.

His bones break and rearrange as his gums pull back to make room for growing teeth. His organs sputter painfully to an unexpected stop, the blood freezing in his veins. His last breath is excruciating, and Noel cries out from the agony.

His vision blurs, fogging quickly, pinpricks edging in along the periphery. He’s fading, and above him, Julian croons something into his ear, something too muddled to make out, and then Noel passes into the dark. 

When Noel’s eyes open again, it’s from a sleep like none other Noel has experienced, deep and undisturbed by dreams, which is the most unnerving part--he’s always had an overactive imagination. His dream life is as active as his waking life, perhaps even more so. 

But that’s not the only thing that unsettles him. Noel’s not in his flat. He doesn’t recognize the place: it’s nowhere he’s ever been. Wherever he is, it’s dark, lit only by weeping candles, even their soft glow sharp against his eyes. 

Everything looks different. It’s as though his whole life has been in black and white until now, and someone suddenly turned on the Technicolor switch. He can see the sharpest details, even in the lack of light. 

His sense of smell is different too, keener, more acute. The room is quiet, and it smells like books, candle wax, and something smoky and familiar… 

He smells the iron scent of blood, and his throat burns with need. 

Someone’s quietly picking at a guitar, gently plucking out the notes. Noel might not prefer classical, but he’d taken music history at uni and recognizes the tune as a classical guitar rendition of Swan Lake. 

The music suddenly cuts off with a discordant note as the musician casts the instrument aside. Someone shuffles closer to the bed where Noel has been laid out to convalesce. 

Suddenly, Julian appears by his bedside, still wearing the long black cape and old-fashioned clothing he’d been wearing the night before. Noel shifts in the bed, trying to pull himself up, but his limbs give out, his bones and muscles gliding in a way that’s too quick, too smooth, too unfamiliar. His head swims, his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth, and he  _ needs  _ something to drink.

Julian proffers a crystal wine glass, full of a dark scarlet liquid that makes Noel’s gums retract and his mouth pool with saliva. Greedily, he grabs the glass and drinks, moaning through his nose at how  _ sweet  _ it is, how perfectly it slakes his thirst.

“This is amazing,” Noel breathes when the glass is empty, his tongue darting out to lick the rim of the glass. “Best wine I’ve ever had.” 

Julian stares back at him, an inscrutable smile twitching at the corner of his moustache. 

“Didn’t expect it to taste so good,” Noel admits. “Kind of funny, a guy who doesn’t drink having such good wine.”

Julian’s eyebrow raises in an expression which might be incredulous, might be insulting… Noel isn’t sure. “I don’t drink wine,” Julian growls. “And neither do you. Not anymore.”

Noel stares down into the glass. A film of liquid clings to the inside of the glass, red and viscous. The realization hits: what Noel is, what has been done to him.

The liquid inside the glass blooms with a delicious bouquet, rich, heady, and sweet. It wafts into his nose, making his mouth water. Noel runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth, and there they are--his canines, longer and sharper than Noel remembers, prick at his tongue. A drop of blood leaches into his mouth.

Noel swallows.

He brings the glass to his lips, tips it back, and drains it of the last drops.

**Author's Note:**

> The entire fic was based on this Tweet from @DothTheDoth:  
> <https://twitter.com/DothTheDoth/status/1299371333437075456>
> 
> Howard references London’s “teeming millions” is which is from _Dracula_ , Chapter 4: "This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come he might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate his lust for blood..."
> 
> Julian’s line, “I never drink… alcohol” is lifted directly from the 1931 film version of Dracula. Gary Oldman later recycled the line in 1992.
> 
> The song Julian plays is a throwaway reference to the 1931 film version of Dracula, which used Tchaikovsky’s _  
> Swan Lake_ theme as the opening titles. Click here to see what it sounds like on classical guitar:  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTnqMoVEgSQ>


End file.
